Wrapped in a Memory
by Burn Our History
Summary: This fic is based around the Dawson's Creek series finale, specifically the relationship between Pacey and Jen. Some dialogue used within orginally appeared in the aired episodes. No plagarism or copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey guys, remember that time when my ex-boyfriend knocked me up and left me to raise a baby on my own."

Her laughter made for a convincing cover story. Maybe not enough to fool herself but the painstaking stares from her friends let her know that they were none the wiser. Especially Pacey, whose eyes seemed to bare a distinct kind of pain that dangerously resembled pity. Jen hung her head to avoid catching his line of vision, a behavior he seemed to mimic with a floating glance. Even in her present state, drunk and carelessly draped over the shoulder of her best friend, Jack, she did not have the heart to share an unspoken truth, not even with the one person who needed to know. Not here; not yet. And one shared look would have given her away.

* * *

She had intense blue eyes.  
A tiny dimple appeared just to the right of her mouth when she smiled.

Jack noticed it when he ran his finger over the line of Amy's apple cheek, the softness of his loving touch soothing her tears, but thought little of the slight imperfection. He was too enamored with her smile; her sweet, adoring coo rendering him incapable of suspicion. Like anything beautiful about her, he assumed, she had inherited it from her mother.

Jen watched, mesmerized by the ease with which they seemed to fit into one another's lives. An indiscriminate love that seemed to mirror, and in its own way rival, her own bond with him. She felt a twinge of jealousy. Amy would belong to Jack, Jack to Amy. She would not be promised a share in their fortune, being swept into the comfort of their love. All she would have is the absence. Her heart darkened more by the notion that her lies, and inevitable truths, could tear them apart.

"What's this?" Jack asked.

His words broke her absent stare, her eyes snapping towards him, almost violently, her face remained composed, serene. Much to her mixed relief and disappointment, she saw him holding a bottle of pills. "Oh, they're Grams'. I just keep it on hand in case she forgets it."

His face was puzzled. "I didn't know she was still on painkillers. She looks like she's in good health."

"Looks can be deceiving that way." Her smile was ironic, almost impossibly so, the corners of her mouth spilling secrets to her daughter who seemed to understand. As she took Amy back in her arms, her chest quaked with pain. No matter how advanced, technology could not create miracles or absolve responsibilities. At least not in her case.

The throbbing beat in her ears, against the inside of her head, and muddled the conversation taking place between Jack and her more capable half. He voiced the observation of a great change in her; wisdom in motherhood. That Amy was the light of her life, giving her an unusual purpose. The conversation shifted to him, to how desperately he wished that Doug was ready to be his. He could talk about Doug forever, so it seemed, but none of it sounded positive to her. She responded to his persistent chatter with what was more common sense than sage advice, though she did not think much about his words or her own. Her mind settled peacefully in the past. If she moved through it slowly, maybe the non-existent future would never step forward.

The lukewarm dishwater felt cool against her skin, the sweat sliding down her neck having the opposite effect. As she dragged her forearm across her brow she caught a glimpse of messy brown waves through the dingy kitchen window. So many like it passed over that same sidewalk daily, no one more interesting than the next. In a city of 8 million, the intrigue of one had been lost on her long ago. Until the face tilted upward and, looking for a godsend, seemed to find her peering face. Her excited reaction was almost immediate and it took great will power for her not to run through the hallway, launching herself into his arms. Instead, she carefully set down the dish in the drying rack and walked, almost as if on tiptoe, to the door. She raked the sweaty tangles from her hair before she rested a hand on the door knob, her mind considering that she may be unrecognizable to him. That she would no longer stand out in a crowd of faces the way he did. Could she even open that door or would his unknowing presence on the other side make her retreat back into the doldrums of her life? She could not bear to hear the knock and remain still, rendered immobile.

Slowly, it appeared. The smile with the right-sided dimple she had grown to love more than any other all those years ago.

"Witter."  
"Lindley." A telling smile comparable to his own escaped her lips. One single word. His true show of affection.

In that doorway, they embraced for the first time in years. Her heart pounding against her chest; against his.

* * *

He slumped over the counter, the sharp pain of inhalation slowly subsiding. As he regained his composure he slowly made his way to the freezer and found a raw cut to press against his swollen eye.

"What a stupid waste of meat," he remarked scornfully. And berating yourself is an equal waste of time, he thought to himself. No matter how often he did so, the end result was always the same. When he showed up at Gail's wedding so battered, compliments of the disgruntled husband to his latest mistress, the glances would shift to his face and speculation would run rampant. All the conclusions would be the same. Pacey had done something ill-advised. "Just Pacey being Pacey," they would think, possibly even whisper to one another. Strangers and friends alike thinking little of him; him thinking it was no less than he deserved.

He sat down behind his desk, face still throbbing. Pulling the side drawer open, he retrieved a small strip of photographs. Funny faces, Eskimo kisses, and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Every time he had looked at the photos in the 2 years since they had been taken all he could think about was the smell of her sweet perfume on that hot summer night in New York. How the fine dew of the city's humin air stuck to her exposed shoulders and back making it appear iridescent. Her perfectly small mouth, sticky with a shared Mr. Softee cone, smiling at him in a way that made his heart heave with her admiration. Her eyes telling him that no one could love a boy such as him the way a girl like her could. The way a girl like her had since the day he'd kissed her in a church, on little more than a dare.

Remembering helped him forget. Everyday he had spent with her was a day in which he was more than just a calamity. More than just Pacey. With her, he became capable of more because her love understood that he was more.

Even though it was agonizing, he grinned at the thought of such amazing days. They made the prospect of the judging eyes and hushed accusations disappear. Her eyes, her lips, her everything. That was all he would be able to see.


	2. Chapter 2

His face was hidden behind dark shades. Avoidance was a much more effective tactic than nonchalance under the burden of scrutinizing eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was detract from Gail or her happiness on a day that belonged to her exclusively, but he was tired. Tired from a night of lying awake in discomfort but more so from having to constantly impress people so they would not judge him based on false impressions. All he wanted was to do forget about everyone around him, especially his mistress skulking the perimeter of the dance floor, and connect with the only person he cared to see. Once he did, he would no longer need to worry about formulating new lies and spinning possible explanations.

Jen was plucking pills from a transparent orange bottle as he approached. A small clawing sensation relative to worry entered his mind, almost like a tic, but left as quickly when she reassured him the pills helped to relieve the stress of being a worrisome, new mom. Holding out his wine glass, he could not help but smile at her. He could not imagine a better mother than Jen. She had experienced so much in her own life that she truly understood the vast chasm between what was right and what was wrong. She could teach Amy to see a devastating kind of beauty in everything and Amy would know the best that the world offered. More importantly she would know that without her everything in the world would have less meaning. Life would never be perfect, nor would she ever be, but Amy would be okay because she would know she never had to be. Just being who she was would be enough for her mother, enough for anybody.

"Thank you," Jen said before sipping the wine. His fingertips brushed hers in the exchange of the glass and he felt the flutter of her heartbeat accelerate slightly. When her hand jumped back, the wine dribbled over the edge of the glass.

A nervous laugh spread between them.

"You…uh, mind sharing? 'Cause I could really use it today." He slid the glasses down, a sense of foreboding causing some hesitation in his action. She would not react like the others, he scolded. Still, she could, then what would she think of him. The knot in his stomach tightened as his hand settled at his side.

"Oh, no." He winced at her words, even though they were quiet and reassuring, but more at her outstretched fingers. They brushed lightly over his sickly colored bruises. He could not remember if her touch had always been so soothing or if it was simply the healing touch of a mother.

He stepped backward slightly, angling himself to indicate a strawberry blond woman who was at least 10 years his senior. "Some things never change, huh?" A hint of preemptive self-loathing betrayed him.

"It is possible, surely, but no more so than the notion that things can change in immeasurable ways. All you have to do is find comfort in places that aren't so damaging. Not only to your heart but also to your face."

She was giving him an easy out for his compulsively bad behavior layered beneath a few thoughtful words. Acceptance wrapped in advice, a Jen Lindley specialty seemingly reserved for him. "Any suggestions on how to go about avoid continuing such self-destructive behavior?"

"Well, I made sure that Joey and I ran in different social circles after she moved to New York City. That way, I could lose my boyfriends all on my own, no help from her. Obviously, it worked out because I have Amy."

He recognized the lilt in her voice through the laughter. She was guarding herself from the truth of how deeply it cut her every time she felt like she was only second best.

"It can border on neurotic trying to keep track of all the boys I lost to Joey Potter. Dawson, Charlie, Dawson again…"

"Me," he blurted out. His tone was almost comical but the word took on a seriousness when she looked directly at him.

His amused chuckled was stifled by her surprise. "You? Pacey, we were never together. How could she…."

He laughed again, too loudly this time, only to pique her curiosity. "You know me, Lindley. I tend to be a little ego maniacal when it comes to my sex appeal." He turned his full attention to the few swaying pairs of strangers occupying the dance floor.

Her silence made him uneasy, enough so that he glanced at her in the periphery. Perfectly beautiful as always. Just like the day she stepped out of that yellow cab. Now, here she was again, fallen back into his life, reminding him how effortless it was to love her.

"Pacey, I assure you that if I had ever had you, in any way, I would have held onto you with both hands." Her voice was light, but serious. "I mean, you were irresistible, after all."

He grinned. "And I can only imagine the damage that we could have done in Dawson Leery's boyhood sanctuary had your two hands been involved."

Her attempts to look affronted failed. "Okay, I think we need to get your mind off this track. Why not dance with me, hmm?" Without waiting for his response, she took his hand and led him onto the floor.

He placed his hand cautiously on her waist. Their stance seemed awkward - longing to be closer but each fearing any evidence of such revelations. It had been seamless all those years ago in the ballroom of Capeside's ruddy dance school. Now her body did not fit his contours and her attention aimed anywhere but towards him. His only encouragement came from her delicate palm resting perfectly against his, feeling like it was meant to be there. When he finally found the courage to pull her close, dancing next to her, he felt the flash; he was back in New York, her slight frame pressed against his, the summer heat barely separating them, feeling the graze of her heart against his pulsing ribs.

"What do you think they are saying," she mused, referring to his childhood best friends who he'd been eyeing.

Her playfulness warmed him. "I don't know. What do soul mates usually discuss on such occasions?"

She laughed lightly. "I could not say. Probably something about a window and a ladder and a lifetime's worth of Saturday night movies. The joys of growing up but the pitfalls of growing apart in the process."

"It happens to the best of us," he said, defeat tainting his voice. "If those two cannot manage to make it happen, where's the hope for the rest of us?"

She only nodded as she reached out to touch Joey's arm, indicating that she'd had enough of Pacey bruising her toes. She waltzed over to Dawson as Pacey's his hand slid off of her hip. His words had succeeded in driving her away though that was not the intent and it pained him to watch her dancing happily with Dawson. His only choice was to turn his attention elsewhere momentarily. But even as he side stepped and shuffled to the tune with the stunning Josephine Potter to compliment or detract from his tie, he had difficulty vacating the sweet-faced blond in the flowing maroon-colored dress. Forcing his back to her, still feeling her presence near him, made him think of a time when they danced before as teenagers. He had spun her away from Dawson as he wanted to now. He wanted to grab her up and remind her of the time they kissed in that coat closet. Or that day he arrived in New York and she smiled at the simple sound of her name. He wanted to repeat days like those over and over, making new memories out of a love story that they were meant to share but had too often suppressed. His opportunity fleeted away as her dainty frame collapsed into Dawson's arms.

It came on more slowly this time, taking the panic set in Mrs. Ryan's frantic calls for an emergency response, but it did come. The tic returned to him as a pounding, burning in his chest. Hers was not the only heart in trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

He stood in front of the restaurant, his solemn gaze fixed on the dark water rippling gently in combat with the breeze. He had just parted ways with Dawson and Joey, who had been his anxious passengers on the way to and from the hospital. For once, it had not been his driving that worried them.

Jen had an abnormality in her heart, discovered during her pregnancy, that had been known only to her and her grandmother. It sounded so simple, easily fixed. He had seen it done on TV medical dramas so often that he had been momentarily reassured that everything would be okay. It was the shock on Jack's face as he heard the news that was frightening to Pacey, more so than the words themselves. Jack knew everything about Jen because she told him everything. At least, everything she could handle to tell him. If she had kept this a secret, she had wanted to protect her best friend from the truth of what was happening. As Pacey put all the factors into context, any attempts on Mrs. Ryan's part to minimalize the dire nature of the situation became flimsy excuses at best.

The faint sound of lapping against the dock's aging pillars outweighed the fog of inebriation. His head was swimming but not with the vague indifference he would have preferred. Instead, he saw the terrifying image of her lying perfectly still on the dance floor, her heart struggling to beat. His breath caught in his chest, making him feel unsteady. Fear had finally stricken him. He had felt something similar when his father had been hospitalized for heart problems. The difference was he could not face this. Living a life without her would be impossible. He wanted to run but the heat of the day crushed against him, forcing him to sit, his legs dangling over the edge of the dock. Even if he had tried, he could not escape the dread. As he watched as the sun sink, bleeding against the earth, he remembered how differently it had looked on a summer night in New York.

The sun had faded with almost perfect time; the murky twilight glazed the horizon.

The people on the street seemed of a different world even though he had been one of them only hours ago. As he stared down, time was passing more quickly than he felt it should.

They had covered everything in those few short hours since his arrival. Flourishing careers, floundering relationships, both of which applied mostly to her. She had found her niche at an art gallery, even if the commute had her spending more time on public transit than at home and the pay kept her living in a cramped apartment with her grandmother. He knew that she did not mind the latter. She had said it herself, more than once, that she was just a little girl who needed her grandma. It was one of the things about her he could not help but love. Having to spend so much time on public transit did not seem to bother her terribly, either, seeing as it kept her away from her wandering boyfriend. She was not allowing it to show but intuition told him that she had grown more attached to the label then the content of her own relationship.

He did not say much outside of brief interjections and bits of what he considered wisdom, at least for him. She had made not so subtle attempts at prying into the goings on of his life but he always diverted back to her. There was not much he had to say that he wanted her to hear and what there was would have been daunting to them both. He preferred to listen instead. No matter the words, anything sounded better uttered from her lips.

Now, she was laying on her stomach, her cheek resting on the cool cotton of her pillow. "I'm glad you are here," she said abruptly. This is honestly the best I have felt in a very long time."

His eyes fixed on the window, though her lips danced in the their corners. "I try to break the monotony of misery wherever I go, Lindley. Luckily for you NYC was a slated venue on this year's summer tour." He tried to keep his tone as ambivalent as possible.

Glancing over, her chin resting on her shoulder, she eyed him. "No, seriously. This may border on cheesy but…You are the best thing for me at the moment."

"And what happens at the end of 60 seconds? Am I just the rotten Capesidian pumpkin in your life that you leave on the porch until it spoils or gets splattered all over the lawn by rowdy teenagers?" She grimaced. "Oh, Pace. I didn't mean it like that."

Pacey scooted close to her, desperate to spare her any unintentional pain. "Hey, I'm just messing around. I know you would never wash your hands of me, so to speak. I suppose that I am trying to find humor in the inevitability of you growing weary of me, finding a delicate but pointed way of asking me to leave." He had not intended to be so frank but there was nothing else for him to say. The truth, always managed to cripple him at the most inopportune times.

"Who said anything about you leaving? I just told you nothing makes me happier than almost anything. So you aren't going anywhere. Not now, not ever if you don't want to." She stopped herself abruptly, looking away as if she had revealed too much, before trying to redirect her mistaken sentiment. "I mean, I hear Joey plans to move here and Dawson will get rich soon enough, buy himself a disgustingly expensive loft in Manhattan. New York will become Capeside 2.0, strange as that sounds. That'll give you plenty of incentive to stay. All we would have to do is get Jack here."

Her words infuriated him. "I have all the incentive to be here that I need. I don't need my childhood clique. You are all I need. You. Just you. When are you going to accept that you are more than enough for me, Jen?"

Her eyes stared, blankly. No words of defense came to her and her silence only flustered him further. He again turned towards the window, attempting to fight back the sensation churning in his gut. He had not come all this way just to tear her apart, make her feel bad for something so trivial as not liking him back. He was not that petty. Still, he did not want to be spurned with silence.

"You cannot be what saves me, Pacey." She blurted the words out but they were barely audible. "I don't want you to be. Everything that I hold up so highly always falls short. I could not bear if that happened to you because you are the one person who never failed me.

"I don't want to save you. I am in no position to be that for myself, much less anyone else. Besides, I don't see anything that needs saving. Just an incredible woman who is worth more than she sees, more than other people see. All I want, Jen, is to be with you."

She did not look at him. "Is that why you came here?"

The answer was obvious as he cautiously traced the curve of her hip. "I just wanted to see your face again. To remember the way my reflection looked in your eyes. And the way my name sounded when you said it.

She did not move, not fleeing or facilitating. He knew he should be more hesitant but he passed on too many opportunities to have this moment with her. Now was not the time to question motives, even though he knew if he could see her eyes they would have been. His heart was racing, a product of wanting her and needing her to know that he did.

He inched her blue tank top up just enough to nuzzle the small of her back before gently brushing lips against the same spot. She shuttered, not able to resist the feel of this lips on her skin. The allure of his mouth was too tempting and she rolled on her back, causing him to shift his position as he reached his face up to hers.

His lips melted into hers, his hands moving over the soft curves of her body made him feel like stranger. Like he never touched her before. For a moment, he felt sixteen again. Slightly unsure of what he was suppose to be doing, how he was going to measure up against the others, his competition. This, however, was nothing like the pact they had formed back then. No holding back, no pretense, only an undeniable passion that had been held at bay for far too long. This was the time had been given, but had failed to acknowledge and he was not going to ignore it anymore. The intensity of her response, her invitation, removed any lingering doubt from his mind.

__

This will be a perfect night,

He felt a strong hand clamp on his shoulder, pulling him back from a scene he had replayed more times than he could actively recall. He turned his head to find Jack's face, eyes colored red from tears. Pacey came to his feet, attempting to suppress the word, "what." It would have been idiotic to question the obvious, forcing Jack to repeat the devastating words he'd had no time to process himself. He pulled his friend close, unashamed of an embrace. They were going to lose her so what did anything else matter now.

he recalled thinking before he made love to Jen. 


	4. Chapter 4

He stood there, looking down, realizing that the flowers, no matter their quality and beauty, were not enough. Nothing was going to be enough.

Decreased left ventricular systolic function.

Complicated words that had very little meaning to him. They had been simple the previous day yet the reality of them remained the same. A change in title did not help her evade death, nor him guilt. It would not ease the intense feeling that he was failing her more distinctly that her own heart.

He wanted to be everything she needed. Her reprieve from fear, from death, from any further pain. More selfishly, he wanted to save her for himself. As her hero, she would be indebted to him. She would have to love him then. No excuses or open-ended clauses that allowed her to opt in favor of letting her friend have him or leaving him stranded in New York. She would have to stay - alive, close to him, always in his life - if he could save her. She would have no choice.

But he could not do any of it; she still had no choice.

And he had no second chance.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in a violent rage. He was not allowed to feel self-pity. He had been elected go in first for a reason. Send in the clown, he had said to the others. His status as a screw-up, a joke, was working to his favor this one time. He would have the chance to make her smile, to allow a moment's peace before facing a swarm of broken hearts with false bravado.

_Maybe I am not so useless after all_. Taking a deep breath, he took two steps forward.

***

The harsh reflection of the vacant walls pierced her eyelids, making a wakeful gaze difficult to sustain. The stiffness in her neck rendered her head immobile, her face slumping against the pillow. She was no stranger to such surroundings. Poisonous white walls, grey upholstered chairs for visitors. Monitors above her head emitted faint blips that could not possibly indicate her body's functions. They were too light, wavering in a droning taunt. The distress of each passing second never changed their sound. It was a steady, never faltering reminder.

She had always hated hospitals but the intensity had grown over the last year. At least this will be the last time, she thought, forcing herself to be absent of emotion. It also resolved a once complicated matter. There was no longer a choice to be made. Death kept ironic company, slighting her in its presence while at the same time giving her the bravery that she lacked in the passed.

She sighed, pressing her eyelids together tightly. Anything else, she thought. Her mind needed to be thinking of anything else.

She saw the sidewalk glistening in front of her, her white sneakers looking dirty against it. The rain intensified the smell of garbage clinging to everything. Though she was already uncomfortable, she pulled the sleeves of her shirt down and hid her face beneath a hood. If she was invisible, an easy feat amidst a sea of faceless commuters, he would not be able to see her walking away.

Her continued movements were unknowing; she felt the disconnect from everything around her. She'd had no plan when she woke up, panicked by the presence of his body securely resting against hers. Only that she would go.

The phone receiver was slick with rain and clicked in her ear as the coins dropped. Her words were brief and rational, each more selfish than the next. Still, she knew Grams would listen to the message and realize that it was for the best, even if she did not understand. She would not want to hurt Pacey anymore than Jen did so she would find a convincing yet equally sympathetic way to send him back to Capeside. He would go calmly and quietly, taking with him the responsibility for why it happened the way it did.

She saddled the receiver quietly, before bracing herself against a dirty cement wall. Her knees buckled, sliding her body to the ground, a searing tear racing the rest of her.

When she opened her eyes, she saw him standing in the doorway, muttering to himself. She could not avoid facing him anymore, not even if she called out to her Grandmother. The time had come, as she knew it would eventually, though she had envisioned it differently.

"So they sent you in first…" She was glad for it. Nothing made her feel more grounded, more safe than Pacey's closeness.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, god, we're so gawky," Jen said, chuckling softly at the moving image of her 15-year old self.

"Well…you, anyway," Pacey replied.

He had been staying close by, though never hovering or lingering too long. He tried to exist on the periphery when people passed through, watching her persona adjust to their presence, allowing her to share time with those she loved without any hindrance. When they left, he held her hand and, at times, he cradled her tired body close against his own. She would fade in and out of consciousness, frightening him with the stillness of her chest while she rested. He knew the world outside existed, that he had a fledgling business that could flounder in his absence. Still, nothing was more important than she was.

Now, watching video footage filmed during her first months in Capeside, he realized how sick she really looked. Skin that had blushed was now ashen and he could see the deep blue veins of her hand as it lay in his. The cherub she once was had wasted away, all too quickly for anyone to comprehend. Still, the animation in her face, the shine that had taken to her eyes upon seeing who they once were, eased his discord. He had taken the tape years before without any purpose but the response he saw in her made it worth stealing from his best friend. Incurring wrath from Dawson was well worth seeing a genuine smile cross her lips.

She was unaware that it was even happening; the smile, and the feeling that accompanied it. One had become trademark, a shining symbol in the face of other people, while capacity for the latter seemed alien. She was almost numb to its presence. But with Pacey sitting there, watching her intently both on the screen and off, she no longer had to monitor her reactions, her emotions. Especially not her fear. There was no point in masking it anymore. Not from him. He had always been able to see beneath her surface. She realized it years ago, around the time the video had been made, that he could see humanity in her heartache. The best of her was ever present to him. Sharing the worst, the weakness, would not make him shy away from her. With him, it could end. The selflessness and the torturous paradox of truth.

"I don't want to do this. I don't want to…die. I hate this." The words came out as a throated sob softened at the mention of Amy. "I don't want to leave her."

His hands were strong, his promises fervent. A tear warmed the tip of his thumb and his courage almost disappeared. He almost faltered. But his eyes stared at her fiercely. A promise; we will take care of your daughter. He pulled her shaking frame to him.

She breathed the barely audible words, her voice threaded with the pain of impossible decisions, "Our daughter," before collapsing in to his embrace.

Unflinching, though surprised, he looked down upon her dewy eyes. He had heard the words but they seemed impossible. "Jen. Amy…" was all he could manage.

"Is your daughter, Pacey. And she'll need you now, more than ever." His knowledge somehow calmed her. Even in the face of death, the great fear of loss seemed to wash away.

She could see the questions swimming in Pacey's eyes. How? Why? When?

"You were starting fresh back then. Or, at least, as much so as anyone can in Capeside. Dreams of opening a business, rebuilding relationships with your family and your friends. I never wanted you to give that up out of obligation."

A hot tear streaked his complexion. All the perfect boyishness was lost now. The soft lines of his face hardened, absolutely taut around his mouth. His right-sided dimple was gone. "What about you and me, Jen? Huh?" His voice was raised but not loud enough to alert anyone outside the room. Nurses and doctors passed by without even noticing him, her, what was happening. "I finally get to know my daughter, know that I have a family, but I have to let you go. That's my trade?!"

He gripped the edge of her sliding tray table to steady himself.

"Pacey," she said quietly, touching her hand to his, "Your anger is justified. More than justified, really. But you have to put that all aside and give our daughter the family she deserves."

"Not without you. I can't do it." He felt a bit ridiculous, pouting like a child. He knew that the words did not change the facts.

"You have will have Jack and Doug to help you, and Grams promised me that she would stay around until you get the hang of fatherhood."

"Is there such a thing as getting the hang of it? If there is, my father _definitely_ dropped the ball." He felt nauseated, disgusted, at the idea of making jokes. Still, he could not combat his nature. The reality of that surged through him, making him uneasy. His mind raced. What if there was no changing who he was? What if he was destined to make a mess of this little girl's life like he did of most things? He would disappoint Jen and he could not live with that idea.

"You're greater than the failure of your father. I have seen you rise above so much, including your own misconceptions of who you are and what you are capable of." She stroked his cheek softly. "You are going to be an amazing father to Amy. If I thought otherwise, I would be leaving her care to Jack."

"You are telling me you could have…." He almost said something as untrue as it was thoughtless. Though his anger lingered, he did not want to cause her any further suffering. It had taken so much for her to tell him. He did not want her to regret it. "…you could have given Amy a chance at happiness with Jack but, instead, you are choosing to take a shot in the dark, so to speak."

"No, really, I am not," she said pointedly.

Her resolve was touching while, at the same time, making him question her rationality. "You have more faith in me than I deserve."

"How could I not have faith in you? You have carried me through the most difficult time of my life and too many before it. Your devotion is unwavering." She looked away from him, and out the window. "The fact that you are sitting here now, promising me the world still, even after I treated you with such callous disregard two years ago, says exactly what I need to hear. It tells me that our daughter will never have to search for a place to call home."

"Why did you, then? Leave I mean," he asked. That day had stuck with him for so long. With the door open, he could not leave things unresolved.

Her memories rested on a train, the heavy feel of desperation keeping her firmly planted in her seat, her eyes fixed on the blur of her stop passing through a dingy window. Her mind had raced alongside the car, trying to answer his present questions. "Would saying that I was afraid be too simple? It always seemed to be," she admitted, looking at him with an earnest gaze. "The fact is that I could never bear to lose you and I felt like if I had you, that was always a possibility. It probably sounds stupid, selfish, and obviously I was wrong. Hindsight always seems to work against me."

"It isn't stupid. In fact, it is how I have felt watching you these last few days. Now that I have you, it breaks my heart to have to lose you."

She could not respond. Again, the feeling of loneliness was leaving her while attaching itself to him.

"What did my Grams say to you to get you to leave?" she asked, as if the question had been begging to be asked.

"Just that she knew you better than anyone, myself included, and in knowing you, she knew that what you had chose to do was the best for each of us. Something in the way she said it convinced me, though it did not console me."

"Of course. I knew she would. That is why I had her tell you instead of doing it myself. I think it is in the nature of grandmothers that they know the exact words to use so as not to hurt but to help."

He nodded, considering the matter closed. The explanation had always been seated in the back of his mind but hearing her say it made it more valid. Now he had to look on, onto a future without her.

"How do I do this Jen? How do I raise her, look at her every day when all I can see in her is you?"

The easiest love of all, she thought. One that already exists. "Let whatever led you to me do the same for Amy. It will be easier than you think."

"Nothing led me to you, Jen. You were just there one day, stealing my heart without either of us knowing it." _Until it was too late_, he added.

A curious look appeared on her face, almost as if he had made some connection that she had never before seen. "Kind of like Amy," she said.

"Have to watch yourself with those Lindley girls," he quipped, unable to resist.

"Hopefully she won't be exactly like me. I pray that she'll get the best of both of us and skip the worst."

"With us as parents, she is already at a disadvantage when it comes to the worst, isn't she?"

"She will have something we never had. Love and unconditional support of her parents. Please let her know that. Even though I am not here, I want her to know that any and everything she chooses will be okay with me."

He grinned. "And if she brings home a tattooed rebel on a motorcycle when she's 16?"

"Okay, maybe not everything. Regardless, I will love her. She has to know that." She clutched his hand in a tight grip. "I need her to know that."

He squeezed her hand back with lighter force. "She will. I promise you that." He swallowed a sob, "And I need you to know that I love you at least that much, if not more."

Tears would have been appropriate. She could feel them burning against her eyelids; to hold them back caused her eyes to ache. Yet she would not let them flow.

"I know. I always knew." She leaned against him again. "And I always loved you back."


	6. Chapter 6

From across the restaurant, he sat with his arms crossed, watching Amy sitting in her great-grandmother's lap. Her baby fists grasped Jack's fingers across the table.

Jen had passed early in the day, and though he had known it would happen, he still felt shocked. He would not see her later, the next day, or the day after that. And now, watching his daughter, he felt more lost than he had imagined he could.

He made his way over to the table, giving Mrs. Ryan an absent-minded kiss on the cheek. There was no other way for him to express a degree of grief he knew they shared. He wished for a way to tell her that he was not fit to be a father but all he could manage was a slight graze of her shoulder as he walked away.

The heavy thump of footsteps followed him back to the kitchen. Usually it was his sanctuary, the one place where everything worked. Nothing went terribly wrong and whatever did he knew he could correct. He could not fail in his kitchen. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to remind him that that all changed outside of that room by bringing it in.

"Look, man, I came back here to clear my head. Be alone. Grams needs you out there more than I do here."

"She is your daughter, Pacey." Jack's voice was urging, but equally sympathetic.

"You know, that is the second time I have heard that yet it still does not feel true." He sighed, deeply. "She is my blood, Jack, but she is yours in all the ways that matter. She belongs to you like Jen did. At the heart of all of it, she was yours."

"You gave her the greatest gift of her life, man. And I don't just mean Amy. You accepted Jen as is, long ago. Before I ever touched her life.

"We all throw around the term 'soul mate' like it is something more than a word when it is simply that. Me and Jen, Joey and Dawson. It is all just nonsense to make us feel less alone and more connected to humanity. Feelings have no acronyms because they're visceral, conscious. I could give Jen everything with little exception. She was never afraid to love me because there would never be a time when I would not love her back. You, on the other hand, challenged her heart in a way that frightened her but at the same time gave her a reason to feel anything at all. That makes her just as much yours as she was mine, Pacey. You gave her a greater meaning, with your love and with Amy, and you gave her a place without ever asking anything of her."

He could not bite back the tears or the ignore the harsh truth of Jack's words, no matter how much easier doing so would have been. Forgetting his love for Jen would have been plausible if she had not loved him back, and given him the purpose Jack seemed to think he gave her.

"Jack, I don't -"

"You don't have to believe you can," Jack asserted, as if he were omniscient, hearing the scramble in Pacey's head. All thinking does is trip you up, make you doubt yourself. You just do it." Jack's attempt to edge his voice paled in the light of his compassion. "Jen didn't want Amy to chase after love but more importantly she didn't her to run from it. You can be the one to teach Amy what Jen was talking about. You give her a place and someone who will help her to find in what love means." He put his arm around Pacey's shoulders, half hugging him. "So why not go out there, and get a head start on knowing your daughter?"

***

Her tiny body was nestled effortless in the crook of his arm, her blond hair tickled his neck. Though her observations were indiscriminate, her expression betrayed her. She could feel an absence. It manifested itself in sad shades of blue that matched his eyes perfectly.

"I remember the first time your mother talked about you. It was long before you were even a thought. She looked beautiful, sitting cross-legged on that ugly secondhand sofa she loved. Her hair was tangled and sticky because it was so hot that afternoon. I cooked a magnificent dinner, which was probably not the smartest thing to do considering the heat but your mom asked me to."

Amy whimpered at the sound of the word. He adjusted her position, tucking her closer to him. He knew how she felt.

"We talked about the future and what we wanted to do. My dream was a restaurant and she encouraged me to do it, throwing around the words 'amazing chef' and 'savvy mind for business.' I said, jokingly of course, that would happen the day that she moved to the suburbs and got the white picket fence, the two kids and the dog. She said she was living in Brooklyn with her cat and Grams and that would be as close as she would get. Still, she admitted that she thought children wouldn't be so bad."

She twisted the toy in her hands lazily. He would have to learn whether or not that was a sign of ambivalence or simply typical little girl behavior.

"It was a point we agreed on, both thinking we could prove better parents than our own. She said she thought I would be a great father, especially to a little girl. Then we mused about what we would name our children."

He looked down at her. He was hesitant but he swept a few stray hairs from her face with his other hand. Her big eyes stared up at him, engaging and inquisitive, as if she had been holding onto every word of his story. Trying to make memories of her mother.

"She wanted her children to have names that were as simple as they were beautiful. I suggested Amy for a girl. That is what she really wanted. A little girl." He sighed. "I guess I gave her that sooner than she had expected."

"Mama…" Her hands were raised up, a finger extended out towards the sky.

He cocked his head, swallowing hard. "Yeah, about that. She…well, you are looking in the right direction. Your mom is an angel now. She always was but now she is in a different place. So…it is just you and me now." He patted the front of her shirt, "But she'll always be in your heart. You'll know how much she changed so many lives, mine especially, and how loved she was. How much she will always love you."

Clutching at his face, she smiled a queer smile, with a right sided dimple ever prominent. He knew then that she had gotten the best of both of them.


End file.
